


somnia

by valkyrial



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternative Universe - What if, Episode Prompto, Hypothermia, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Noctis Just Really Loves Prompto, Suicidal Thoughts, but that's mostly on ardyn's part for trolling noct on prompto's origins, in which noctis throws himself off the train for prompto, mmmmild objectification
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 02:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16358567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyrial/pseuds/valkyrial
Summary: He can’t stop here. It’s not his choice to make.It isn’t just his life at stake.He stumbles through the snow, hunched over with Prompto held loosely to his back. And it’s all his fault.[or: Noctis would do anything for Prompto]





	somnia

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to NekoAisu for both beta'ing and listening to my incessant screaming about....any of my AUs tbh

The world around him is a frozen wasteland, with frost gnawing at his cheeks and wind howling in his ears. Before him is a daunting sheet of white amidst an invisible horizon, though it’s not as if he knew where he was going.

It’s for that reason that Noctis pushes forward like it’s the only place left to go, clinging to hope that soon they’ll be somewhere warmer. He struggles to so much as raise his foot from the snow. His eyes have gone dry, no matter how much he may blink, and his skin is caught in a sensation between red-hot and numb.

He’s ready to fall. Ready to cave in and fade away beneath the raging snow, to leave his body to be found frozen solid among a never-ending winter. One full step brings him _that_ much closer to collapsing, but Noctis fights to stay upright.

He can’t stop here. It’s not his choice to make.

It isn’t just _his_ life at stake.

He stumbles through the snow, hunched over with Prompto held loosely to his back. And it’s all his fault.

* * *

He can’t be sure how long they have, not when he isn’t sure just how long they’ve been wandering.

The thought escapes him, the just turn back, to leave the bitter cold and wait for the others from where they fell. It never quite surfaces, not when he’s so concerned with cutting through to Tenebrae.

Though perhaps it was a bad idea to skirt around the tunnel, it might have been wiser to follow the train tracks no matter where they lead, no matter how dark, no matter the risk of daemons, no matter his defenseless state. Now, he doesn’t know where he is. Now, he doesn’t know where the railroad is.

But he can’t afford despair. He forces himself along a line of thought, that there’s no way they aren’t almost there. They must be close to Tenebrae.

When he promises himself this, he does his best to share the news, to turn his head and get his lips near Prompto’s face, laid upon his shoulder, and whisper, “We’re almost there.”  
  
Noct is careful in his words. He gives himself the certainty, saying “we” instead of “I,” knowing well he can’t fathom the alternative. For once, he’s adamant on optimism and forces his mind to cling to the assumption that Prompto’s merely hurt.

 

He’s terrified to think he’s carrying a corpse.

* * *

 

It takes time, and he’s proud of that alone.

His knees buckle in, taking both himself and Prompto down. It’s graceless, the way he flops right down onto his belly, but all he can think about is just how far he’s made it. Tenebrae can’t be far. Not anymore. Soon enough, Ignis and Gladio will notice that they’re missing─if they haven’t already─and find the two of them out here.  
  
He allows his mind to divulge that fantasy, that they’ll be fine, despite knowing better that it will amount to nothing but a daydream.  
  
The four of them, all of them, would be huddled by a fire, camp set up despite his and Prompto’s best protests. Ignis would cook something like soup, while Gladio would chastise the others. Noct himself would take the brunt of the lecture, no matter how much Prompto would try to apologize for yet another matter that was never his fault. And Noctis will let him know; that he’s done nothing wrong. He’ll tell him as many times as necessary to get it through to him, that it’s not at all Prompto’s fault they’ve ended up like this.

It’s Noct’s own.

He allows that dream to overtake him. And with a false sense of comfort, Noctis rolls to the side, allowing ~~the body~~ his companion atop him to fall in place beside himself.

Prompto _seems_ to be breathing, though he can’t be wholly sure what truly lies beneath the winter gear piled on.

And he wonders why he’s happy, that Prompto may just be alive, when they’ll just die here anyway.

_But we’ll die together,_ says the frozen part of him, the side so hopelessly optimistic that even death can’t pry its naivety away.

He drags a hand to his mouth and grabs the glove by his teeth. It takes a tug, but soon his hand is free, and he reaches for Prompto. His hand lands at the nape of Prompto’s neck, using it as purchase to pull himself close, until their foreheads are pressed one against another. From there, his fingers slide across Prompto’s neck, brushing through a few stray hairs, and cups Prompto’s cheek with his palm.

 

Maybe it’s romantic to go out like this.

 

He isn’t quite sure.

 

* * *

He can’t think well on what he’s done.

Him and Prompto, alone together in the middle of the Glacian’s wrath.

And it’s his fault.

* * *

He doesn’t know where he is.

Noct’s shocked to find that, after all, he’s still alive. Although, the knowledge comes from the mere assumption that the afterlife wouldn’t be so biting. He had always assumed it’d be gentle, nothing like the facility he finds himself in, stock full of machinery.

When he pushes himself up by his elbows, a certain soreness blisters through his core. It’s the same pain as always, the ache that tells him he ought to take it easy, yet he refuses.

Instead, he pushes onward, scrambling for Prompto before even thinking to sit up. He’s his priority; he owes Prompto that much.

He reaches out to the armiger, calling for anything he can. His hands slide through the motions, but nothing comes through but a feeble blue glow that flickers and hisses as it fades. Noct can feel his breath catch, at the fear of being cut off, and tries once again.

Nothing.

Another attempt, he searches for a dagger.

No luck.

Once again, for a potion.

Empty.

Noctis curses, shaking his hand as if the flick of his wrist will make any difference. He digs deeper, searches harder, pushes for his divine connection, all for nothing.

He looks back down.

At the least, he can hear Prompto breathing─that’s good in and of itself, but when he seeks out his pulse, he finds next to nothing. With a hand to Prompto’s forehead, Noctis pushes locks of blond aside. The burn of a fever weaves worry into Noctis, leaving him with one last thing to check.

His hands work in a flurry as he struggles with the zipper on Prompto’s coat for one second, shaking with the fear of checking the wounds that lie beneath that and his shirt.

It’s when he moves beyond the coat and reaches for the shirt, however, that he notices something peculiar:  
  
Prompto’s bracelets are gone, and instead of the familiar leather bands are crisp black lines upon his right wrist.

He isn’t granted a single second to ponder as to _why_ , not when, from behind him, a loathsome voice is raised in welcome, “Oh, what a delight it is to see you’ve made it here safe and sound.”  
  
Ardyn’s tone is singsong as always, blithe and carefree like no blood is on his hands. It’s so decidedly distinct that Noctis doesn’t need to turn around to confirm his suspicions, yet he does for confrontation. He can’t do much, he doesn’t _have_ much, all he can do is brace his arms over Prompto while glaring the Chancellor down.

“Oh my,” hums Ardyn, “what ever could that look be for? It’s not as if there’s anything for you to _protect_.”

Noctis blinks, but doesn’t look away. Not until he sees the corners of Ardyn’s lips curl slightly. When he reaches to grab Prompto, his hands meet empty space.

He twists, turns, frantic to discover that Prompto’s _gone_ , suddenly missing from his spot sprawled out on the floor, but when he turns back─

Ardyn has Prompto held by the back of his neck, lighting him, light as a feather.

“Now, I’d say the dear thing’s more than served it purpose. Should I take care of it for you or─ _oh_ . My _apologies_ , highness. It has a _name_ , doesn’t it?”  
  
“Let go of him,” says Noct, without a thought. His tone is rough, and he can feel the crack in his own voice, but he tries, fruitlessly, to be the slightest bit intimidating. He doesn’t know what he can do, nor what the best plan would even _be_ . But, for once, he knows he’ll try _anything_.

“ _Prompto_ , was it? How fitting, given its purpose. Although it’s quite the pity you’ve gone and broken it.” Ardyn swings his arm theatrically─and Prompto is swung with it.

“Stop─give him back.” Noct sees the way Prompto’s limbs sway limply, and bites at his lip.

“You can always get another,” coos Ardyn, his lips curling further into a smile of a snake.

Noct can’t even fathom what that’s supposed to mean, but he snaps, “Shut _up._ ”  
  
And he does, for one moment. Ardyn tilts his head as he makes a dramatic display of his consideration, and, at last, speaks.

“That’s no way to repay my generosity, your _highness_ . If it weren’t for _my_ Magitek troops that had spotted you, nor _my_ orders for _your_ retrieval, I’m afraid that _neither_ you nor your toy gunman would still be alive-” and, with a step towards Noctis, he continues, “-although I can’t say it seems dear Prompto’s hanging on too well.”

“Stop that! Just give me Prompto!” He’s frantic, hands flying to reach for his companion, but Ardyn swings him out of reach and halts Noct with a shove to the chest.

“Impatience is barely befitting of royalty. But,” he hums, “you’ll be needing _him_ to maneuver through this facility.”

Without grace, Prompto is dropped from Ardyn’s grip, left to hit the floor with a disquieting _thud_. Noctis pays the Chancellor no mind, instead dropping to his knees yet again, desperate to collect Prompto.

“I assume you don’t know where you are.”

Noctis doesn’t answer, not as he pulls Prompto towards him, in a half-embrace as he shields him from the monster in the room.  
  
“No? Well, I’m certain you’ll come to _love_ it. After all, it is _his_ home. The first Magitek production facility. Oh, and, _good luck._ ”  
  
Noctis knows he’ll be needing it.

**Author's Note:**

> i dont understand rating systems tbh so as this continues this may shift to M, esp if anyone requests such (if like. it seems Too Much to a T fic)
> 
> big thanks for reading!! and i'd love to hear what you think, so feel free to leave a comment ^w^
> 
> hit me up on tumblr @oh-fives


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